First Attempt

Petunia Dursley frowned as she swung her car into the roundabout. This was ridiculous. She hadn't wanted to go to her father's for luncheon, not with them there. They were staying at her parents' house, and she had already forgone one visit to check on dad. Since mother had died last autumn, Petunia dropped in weekly for a quick clean and an offer to go to the shops. Her father grumbled every time that he wasn't an old man yet, he still had a job and a car, and was quite capable of taking care of himself. She knew he appreciated her visits, though. Someday he'd see that sober respectable people who knew their duty were preferable to those who dropped in suddenly when they hadn't called in weeks...

Petunia's frown deepened. The car had stopped. It hadn't sputtered or struggled, it simply died. She used the last of its momentum to sail close to the curb on a side street. She tried to restart it but the key just clicked; the engine wouldn't even turn over. Petunia grabbed her handbag and began fishing around for the mechanic's card; she'd find a telephone and call for a tow. Suddenly, in mid blink, her hand still caught in the bag, she froze. She tried to move, but couldn't even force her eyelids open. She heard people outside, the sound of the locks popping. Both front doors swung open simultaneously, and hands grabbed her and began pushing and pulling her into the passenger side. She couldn't scream; her heart even refused to beat faster in whatever strange state she was in.

"Why'd you do Petrificus, boy? It's like trying to shift a statue!"

"I don't know. Wasn't thinking. We have to get away, they could be following us already."

Petunia knew that voice.

"Stand back," growled the first man.

Petunia heard him spit out something in Latin; she went as limp as a rag doll. Her brain tried to send signals to the muscles of her legs and arms -- move, move-- but she was just as helpless in this state. She felt herself being wedged into the passenger seat and someone else entering the car.

"Lily, do you know how to work this thing?"

"Yes, dad -- h-he gave me a few lessons. Said if my broom ever broke down..." Petunia's sister choked, the sound a sob and laugh mixed.

"C'mon Moody --" James Potter. It had to be her brother-in-law. He must be addressing the other man.

"I'm not getting in one of those things. I'll follow you for a while, make sure you haven't been seen. Then I'm heading back to the house. If they're still waiting to ambush you, maybe I can summon a few of the Order, get the drop on them."

"We'll get Petunia home; she needs to know. We'll meet you at Headquarters later. Let us know when it's safe to let Muggles go in for him."

Petunia, face turned to the door, eyes stuck almost closed, heard the car start and felt it speed away with the slight hesitations and jerks of an inexperienced driver. She couldn't even brace herself. Are they going to give me my body back? If they carried her up to the flat in that state, her neighbors would think she'd come home sloshed.

"Pet," Lily sounded close to tears. "We've been searching for your car. We're driving you home. James will release you as soon as we park. We can't right now, we have to get away. I know you don't want us there, but we have to talk; we'll leave as soon as we can."

Funny how some things never changed. Lily had always seemed to know what she was thinking. Could her kind read minds?

Petunia felt her auto slow down and swing to the left, then move even slower. Lily must have pulled into the car park of my flat.

At least that man was true to his word. Again, a Latin phrase, and Petunia was struggling to sit upright, pull her hand out of her bag, and open the car door.

"I don't know what you two think you're doing, but let me tell you--" Petunia hissed. She wasn't far enough along for her condition to make her clumsy; it must be anger that was making her struggle to untangle herself from the car.

"Please, Pet," Lily began, but Petunia cut her off.

"Don't call me that! How dare you -- how dare you..." She broke off, sputtering. A man and woman were entering the car park. Petunia recognized them: the couple from downstairs, living in sin, the rumor was. Second hand furniture, too, and didn't she dress tatty.

"Petunia, maybe we should continue this in your flat." James had noticed her head whip around and followed her gaze.

She took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you may as well come up."

They wouldn't be staying, she assured herself. She wouldn't even invite them to sit down. What about dad? She'd phone him when she got upstairs. Thank goodness for small mercies, they were dressed normally anyway.

In her small but tastefully decorated flat Petunia felt more secure. She turned from closing the door. "Well?"

"Pet...Pet," Lily began. Tears suddenly spilled over. She sat down heavily on the sofa, and began sobbing quietly.

"Petunia, your father's dead. I'm sorry. Lily, please..."

That boy had joined her sister, putting his arm around her, pulling her head to his shoulder. Petunia stared at them. Had she heard correctly?

"What are you talking about? Why are we here? Why didn't you let me go to him, instead of using magic--" she spit that word out like mouthful of rancid food -- "to kidnap me?" Her voice rose, but for once she didn't care if the neighbors heard. "Did you at least call an ambulance? Where is he? You -- you're crazy, you're lying!"

Lily wiped her eyes. "He's at the house, Pet." Her voice was flat and she didn't look up. "You can't go to him. None of us can. We can't call anybody yet."

That brazen boy did look at her. "We're all in grave danger. I know you don't like hearing about certain things, but you must listen. There's a wizard, Vold--" He broke off as Lily shushed him. "Well, his name doesn't matter. In Muggle terms, Petunia, he's a terrorist. He hates non-magic folk, and witches and wizards who have Muggle blood. We've joined with some others to oppose him, and--"

"I don't care about any of that! What does this have to do with dad?"

"He's after us, Pet."

Lily stood up and tried to put her arm around Petunia, who shrugged her off and backed up until the wall stopped her.

"And you came here? That maniac is going to follow you here!" Her eyes darted toward the windows.

"His associates, not him personally. They didn't follow us," James said. "Did you hear the other man, the one who was with us when we found your car? Moody -- he's a colleague of ours. He came to the house, looking for us, to warn us. The Order was tipped off that we'd been targeted. But we'd gone out. They'd found Reg instead. When Moody arrived, it was too late."

"He -- he didn't suffer, Pet." Lily wiped her eyes with shaking hands. "We can't go to the house. Moody didn't realize until he was leaving, but there are still some of them there, outside the house. They let him go without attacking him. Moody figures it's because they're hoping he'd look for us and we'll return there. Thank God we spotted your auto; they'd have--"

Petunia had been growing more horrified. "Get out! Get out of my house now, and never come back! Don't come anywhere near me or my family, ever again!"

"You may be in danger--" James tried to interrupt.

"I'm only in danger because you're here. You and your freakish friends and your terrorists. You killed dad! You're responsible, you and your kind, like a horrible disease, you infect everything you come in contact with!" Petunia had thrown open the door. She didn't care who heard; she had to get them out. "I meant what I said. I don't want to hear from you. I don't know you. I don't want to see you. Ever. Keep your distance. Maybe if you ignore us, those terrorists won't know we exist."

"Lily, we can't do anything more here. She knows what she needs to know." James began leading his wife towards the door.

Lily looked back. "Petunia, promise me you won't go to the house. Moody's going back with some friends; perhaps they'll be able to capture the ones who did this. When everything's clear, he'll get in touch with us. I'll dial 999. When they find -- they should telephone here."

"I'll wait for it," Petunia said, staring at them stonily as she continued to hold the door open. She watched them go into the hall. "Promise me that you won't come near us again. Not for the service, not for the funeral. Never."

James' face had darkened. He opened his mouth, but Lily cut him off.

"No, Petunia. We won't see you again. She's right, James, we are a danger to her. He's after us. We should have known better than to go to dad's. We can't go to the funeral. What if they set up another ambush there?" Lily's face crumpled again. Slowly, the Potters turned and headed for the stairs.

Petunia closed and locked the door, then leaned forward, resting her head against the jamb. Her head buzzed. It felt as if it were filled with cotton. Suddenly she gulped in a mouthful of air. What was she thinking, standing around? She raced, first for the kitchen windows, then back to the sitting room with its view of the front road. She did it twice more. There were few people out; none who looked odd or suspicious.

She lowered herself, shaking, onto one of the kitchen chairs, and glanced at the clock. It was hours until she could go to the station to pick up Vernon; she didn't know when the telephone would ring with the bad news. She rubbed her abdomen absent-mindedly. It had become a habit, ever since she heard the good news from the doctor. We'll be safe, I promise. I'll always do whatever it takes to make sure you're never touched by any of this.

I should keep busy. Petunia wandered through the flat, straightening pictures and listlessly plumping pillows. More than once, she found herself near the telly, trailing her hand along the numbers.

What if I ring up? Maybe dad will answer and all this was a dream. The third time she got as far as lifting the headset, listening to the tone. When she finally put it down, she couldn't guess how much time she'd been standing there.

Tea. I'll make tea.

Petunia watched the kettle come to a boil. She shivered. She couldn't remember filling it, or taking down the china. She ran a finger around the trim on the lip and stared at the pink roses climbing around the cup. Lily had called her a witch once.

Petunia had been seven when she received the play tea set from gran. She'd warned Lily not to touch it. It's real china, she'd said, you're too little, you'll break it. Had Lily listened? Of course not, and the result was a broken saucer. Petunia grabbed her little sister's shoulders and gave her a good shaking. Then slapped her. She remembered Lily's face, red and streaming with tears, and Lily screaming at her, calling her an ugly old witch.

Standing at the counter now, Petunia rubbed one hand over her face. She remembered what happened next; her face had itched and squirmed, and suddenly half a dozen lumpy, hairy warts had sprung up out of nowhere. She remembered her parents' confusion, and their attempts to remove them. She'd finally been taken to a dermatologist.

When Lily received her Letter, their parents had got one too. A Muggle Liaison would be calling at the house to explain the Wizarding World, and would answer any questions they might have. During the Liaison's visit, the subject of inadvertent magic had come up and their mother recalled the wart incident. The woman had laughed and said that was quite typical of young witches, though very clever for a small child, and her parents had laughed too, beaming over at Lily.

Petunia, sulking in a corner, had felt cold, then sweaty. She was fourteen, all bony angles and frizzy hair. Her face, already spotty, had flushed with embarrassment and rage. They were so proud, weren't they? Only she realized what a freak her sister was; what horrible things her kind could do to anyone normal. They were defenseless before magic, but there were her parents, laughing and oblivious to the danger. How many times had she tried to tell them...

Oh, dad, why didn't you listen to me!

She stared down, horrified, at the broken teacup. She'd thrown it. And it had been a wedding gift, too, from Vernon's aunt. Suddenly she was choking, great sobs pouring out of her. She leaned on the countertop, one hand pressed hard against her mouth to stop the sound bleeding through those thin walls. A little late to be concerned about the neighbors, but still...

Some time later, she turned and looked at the clock. She straightened up, taking deep calming breaths. It was still much too early to go to the station; she had to get control of herself before she met Vernon. How much should she tell him? It was bad enough that he'd had to be told about her sister's condition.

Petunia managed a smile. Safe, stolid Vernon; he was the definition of normal. She was very lucky he hadn't broken off with her when he'd found out what Lily was. She was careful to tell him as little as possible, and not to mention Lily except when it couldn't be avoided. At least she and that husband of hers had managed to behave at Petunia's wedding.

With a sigh, she turned off the kettle before the water boiled down. She brought out a whisk broom and started sweeping up the mess. Everything had to look ordinary for Vernon when they came home tonight.

I wonder... maybe -- they might decide dad had a heart attack -- then Vernon would never have to be told anything more about it. And if dad hasn't told Lily about the move... once we leave here, maybe none of her kind will bother us.

Suddenly relieved, Petunia opened a drawer and took out several pamphlets and brochures. She'd calm herself by indulging in her new favorite pastime. She crossed back to the sitting room, sitting on a rocking chair by the window, where she could still monitor the comings and goings out front.

Vernon had come home a fortnight ago, cheerful and smug, presenting her with a bouquet of flowers. As an up-and-coming young executive, now with a baby on the way, he'd received a promotion and a pay raise. It was about time, he'd informed her, that a couple of their station look into home ownership.

Petunia fanned through the papers, looking for her favorite. Here it was, a development in Little Whinging. She looked at the sample home on the front of the brochure and remembered driving through the community with Vernon last weekend. Row after row, block after block, of semi-detacheds. All of them wonderfully, beautifully, magnificently alike. All the little postage stamp lawns out front, each carefully cut to the same height as all its neighbors. Women in housedresses, men in suits. Every one of them normal and conventional.

They were going back next week. Let Vernon check out the plumbing and the roof. I'll be checking out the neighbors. No odd clothing, no funny colors on the men. And I'll keep watching, too; I'll make sure nothing odd ever comes near my family again.

Petunia sighed and rocked gently, lost in daydreams of a perfect, normal middle class life.